One Letter Off Perfection
by Alive Through Writing
Summary: Sherlock is on a case, but he needs someone undercover, particularly a woman, and he knows exactly who to go to. Sherlock/oc eventually.
1. Chapter 1

"Right," John starts slowly, staring at his friend disbelievingly."So, what you're saying is you expect to find a woman who is willing to go undercover, not for the police but for some random civilian who claims to consult for them and risk her life for said stranger? You have got to be joking me, Sherlock. No one in their right mind would do that!" he shakes his head. Did Sherlock hear what he was saying? John wondered.

Furrowing his brow, Sherlock turns to face the doctor. "I never said I'd have to find one, I already know who to ask" he replies before continuing to gather his scarf and jacket.

Confused, John remains sitting in his armchair by the unlit fireplace before a thought hits him like a train. "Please tell me you aren't meaning Molly. I mean, she would probably do it, but she wouldn't exactly fit in. It would just look suspicious. Plus, I doubt she'd be able to defend herself if she needed to. What about Agent Donovan?" Sherlock grunts in reply. Moving down the stairs, quickly followed by a sighing John.

Hailing a cab, the taller of the two steps in, giving the driver the address and leaving the door open for John, he grabs his phone out of his pocket and starts typing a text. Staring at him as if expecting an explanation as to where they were headed, John rolls his eyes. Of course he wouldn't explain, when did he?

Smirking as read a text reply, Sherlock puts the phone away quickly, as they pull up in a main road near a long line of shops. Handing the driver some cash, he quickly moves down the street, not waiting for his slower friend to catch up. It was still quite early, only 7.30 in the morning, and most of the shops were shut, confusing John even more before he sees the detective move towards a large building, unlocking the door and waiting for John.

The room was large and mainly empty, a polished dark wooden floor with chairs surrounding it, spotlights coming down from the roof and a black wall covered in mirrors taking up most of the space. To their left was a modern reception desk made of white painted wood and glass, down the other end of the room there was a slightly raised area with a computer system perfectly set into a white desk. The room was scattered with empty used plastic cups and napkins, but the rubbish was only near the chairs. John was confused, to say the least, as to where they were.

All of a sudden, Sherlock moves away from the door, taking the lid off of a near by rubbish bin, picks up the bin and starts to put the rubbish in the bin. John merely stands perfectly still in utter shock. Sherlock was cleaning. Not only was he cleaning, he was doing it without a fuss and of his own accord. John couldn't help wishing Sherlock would adopt this habit at Baker Street, however, he said nothing.

Soon, a pale woman with dyed bright red hair and midnight blue eyes walks in, a slight smile on her face being the only indicator she was aware of their presence. Whipping down the seats with a bottle of spray cleaner and a sponge, her waves gently hit the back of her black and grey patterned jumper as she moves in silent rhythm.

Still confused, John clears his throat, hoping to at least nudge the lack of conversation towards introductions. "Oh," the red head looks towards him, a soft smile fitting her face perfectly, "did you want me to put on some music while you wait, Doctor Watson?" she asks calmly, but honestly, as she puts down her cleaning equipment and walks up to the raised desk, quickly typing something in before a song starts to play over speakers in the ceiling. The song had a fast beat and a happy feel, causing the woman to smile even more so as she moved off the stage and continued cleaning, every step to the beat causing Sherlock to roll his eyes.

John stands still, arms crossed in front of him. She knew his name, presumably Sherlock had told her. But why didn't he tell John who she was?

"You're welcome to look around," her voice calls over to him. "This will take another half hour, so you might as well use that time to deduct what you can about me and the studio" she grins, looking the picture of innocence, expect for a glint in her eyes, challenging him.

Knowing whatever he found would be nothing in comparison to what Sherlock would find, he wasn't very enthusiastic, however both the woman and Sherlock had become silent as the moved around cleaning. He might as well give utterly a try.

She had called the building 'the studio'... John assumed it was a dance studio, taking in the modern furnishings, he guessed it was one of these jazz/tap dance schools, but beyond that, he couldn't find anything. He didn't want to snoop, even though she glad allowed him to, he didn't know where the kind might be drawn, so he left the desks alone, deciding to focus his attention on her.

She was good looking, he thought, cursing his brain for the unhelpful remark. Tall, her body was hidden under a bulky jumper, but her legs appeared to be fit, covered in skin tight faded blue jeans. The faded-ness made him think she must be doing poorly financially, unable to afford the cost of a new pair, but her black healed boots looked expensive, maybe they were a gift? John shakes his head. He couldn't be certain of any of his so called deductions.

The song repeats itself, and the woman finishes cleaning the chairs as Sherlock finishes picking up the rubbish. Both walking out of the room through a door near where she had put the music on. After a few minutes, the duo walk back in, a broom in either right hand, laughing quietly at something, the woman gently smacking Sherlock's arm as she rolls her eyes starting to sweep under the chairs.

She was obviously very comfortable around the detective, and he around her, perhaps they were friends from college? John quickly struck out that thought, remembering their second case together when Sebastian had made it clear Sherlock hadn't had any friends. So how did they know each other? He puzzled, ideas becoming more and more abstract as he continued.

Not noticing the two others leave the room and return, Sherlock placing his discarded scarf and gloves back on as she turns off the music. John continues to be lost in his mind until the woman hits Sherlock in the chest with her bag, making a slight sound and catching Johns attention.

"Hold this" she says to Sherlock as she puts her coat, scarf and beanie on. "Now, here's my deal, doctor. We're all going to get something to eat, you're going to tell me what you think you deduced and for every correct statement, I'll answer one question. Deal?" she asks, placing her hand out in front of her for him to shake.

Looking quickly towards Sherlock, who nods impatiently, John takes her hand and gives it a quick shake. "Fantastic! It's been ages since I've been deduced!" she grins. Taking her bag back from Sherlock, she gestures towards the front door, waiting for the men to leave before setting the security code, walking out and locking up. "Now, food!".

* * *

_A/N: So, This is a new Sherlock/oc fanfic. It is NOT the sequel to Round And Round The Garden, it is entirely separate. I still don't own Sherlock... Trust me, if I did... that's not a topic we should get onto... If there are grammar mistakes, sorry. Tablets are terrible for writing on, They keep guessing stuff, Including unnecessary capitalization..._


	2. Chapter 2

The trio's walk was short, only a few shops away from the studio stood a modern looking cafe. The outside walls featured a climbing vine over painted purple bricks, three tables of wrought iron and glass stand out from a cushioned bench that separates the street from the shop front with high wooden backs. Entering the cafe, the trio are instantly greeted by a young brunette woman dressed in black who takes them to a table near the back, seeming to know the red headed woman as she hands the men each a menu. Looking down at the menu, John blanches slightly at the prices. Perhaps he had been wrong about her finances, he thinks to himself as he orders himself a cup of tea.

"John, don't worry about it" the woman sitting in front of him smiles encouragingly as she places a reassuring hand over his own. "Order whatever you want, don't look at the cost. Besides, I don't want to eat alone!"

Begrudgingly, he orders the cheapest item on the menu, eggs and toast, and waits for the other two to order. Sherlock shakes his head slightly towards to the waitress, indicating he doesn't want anything which causes their female companion to roll her eyes and move to stand. Sherlock's hand quickly grasps her arm, turning her towards him once more as he looks her straight in the eyes.

"You know the deal, Sherlock" the woman states exasperatedly. With a hesitant nod, he let's go of her sleeve, looking towards the menu in contempt before ordering some blueberry pancakes, knowing the redhead next to him would have some from his plate, and a glass of water. Sitting down once more, the redhead takes of her scarf and beanie, placing them in her large brown satchel handbag and turns to John, a smile growing on her lips.

"But," John starts in confusion, "you didn't order anything"

"Correct, although I was hoping your deductions would be a _bit_ more thorough. Sherlock, would you mind terribly keeping count? I suppose I'll count that as one right" the woman smiles to the dark haired detective next to her. A taut nod encouraging her to face John once more. "Now, let's see what you've got!"

"What? Oh, um, right" John starts slowly, thinking back to the studio. "Well, the studio, as you called it, um, well, it seems to be a dance studio, maybe jazz or tap?" he questions.

"We'll call that half a point" she replies with a smile.

"Oh, ok" John falters slightly. Was she not planning on telling him what he had gotten correct and what was incorrect? Shaking his head, he continues his list. "I was going to say that you might, um, have financial difficulties..." he pauses, scared he was approaching an uncomfortable topic, however she merely beckons him to continue, "however, this place isn't cheap, and you seem to be familiar with the staff, so I guess that's not right"

"Another point" she grins towards Sherlock.

"You obviously work at the studio, and you knew how to put the music on, so either you've been cleaning there for ages, or you work there in another job as well, maybe you're a dance teacher?" he asks, encouraged by getting the last assumption correct.

"Indeed, two more points"

"Then there's the last thing, you seem to be very comfortable around Sherlock. I know he didn't have any friends at college, so you either met before or after that, my guess is the latter" John looks carefully over towards Sherlock, making sure he didn't offend him, however, his friend was focused on his phone.

"Another half point. Is that all?" she asks, as he nods. "Very well, that makes, what, five points, six, Sherlock?"

"Five points" he replies, not looking away from his phone.

"Very well, Doctor Watson, you have five questions to ask. There isn't much I won't answer, so shoot!" she laughs, playing with a stray wave of hair.

"Oh, well, um. I guess, my first question would have to be, how do you know Sherlock?" he asks, preparing for her to reject the question.

"Fair enough. We met through family, his parents and my own were rather close, well, as close as rich families can get. When I was seven my parents and I moved from our house in Essex to Buckinghamshire, the Holmes family was our neighbours. We all attended many dinner parties at one another's house, so I became well acquainted with both Sherlock and Mycroft. Next question?" she smiles, not giving away too much information.

"Oh, um, well, I guess, if you came from such a rich background, why are you working as a cleaner?" he asks slowly.

"Simple, I'm not a cleaner. Next?"

"Wait, so if you're not a cleaner, what were you doing before?" he asks, once again confused.

"Cleaning" she smiles, nudging Sherlock gently under the table, unknown to John.

"Alright" John sighs, "so what do you do for a living?"

"I own, run and teach at the dance studio we were just at" she replies simply.

"Why are you the person we're coming to for this?" he asks, hoping to get a helpful answer.

"Simple," she replies as three plates of food arrive; a plate of blueberry pancakes, some eggs on toast and a bowl of hot oats, along with a cup of tea and two glasses of water. The woman smiles to the waitress, handing her some notes, before turning back to the conversation, taking a spoonful of oats. "I can fit in, I am willing to do it, I enjoy doing it, and I like my payment" she grins cheekily, before tucking into her food.

"And what payment is that?" John asks.

"Sorry, Johnny boy, you're all out of questions" she winks before turning to Sherlock. "Speaking of payment, I was think 2?"

"Two days?" Sherlock asks, eyebrows raised.

"'Two days'" she repeats laughing, "dream on. I'm about as likely to make it two days as I am to willingly go to Mycroft's for Christmas! No, dear, two weeks"

Sherlock visibly gulps. "That's ridiculous" he counters, taking a small bite from his food as she nears finishing her own.

"It's not ridiculous, Sherlock, it's perfectly acceptable. Tell you what, two weeks, I'll cook and be there to make sure it all goes smoothly, and I'll help you with the case in any way you need" she offers, eyeing off a small pancake on his plate.

"Two weeks of you not attending work?" he asks sceptically.

"Yes, two weeks. I have people who can take over my lessons, and as long as I go in to check on the studio every day or so, it should be fine" she shrugs before stealing a pancake. "And don't give me that look, I'm only taking one, you have to eat the others."

Sighing, Sherlock slowly makes his way through the remaining one and a half pancakes. "Fine" he utters quietly, causing the red head to laugh.

"Good, now, as for tonight, what do you want me to do, exactly?" And with that, they fall into conversation about the exact plans, plans in detail to an extent that not only was what she was to wear planned out, but her exact shade of lipstick was also chosen for her. By the end of the conversation they had agreed she would get ready at Baker Street, so Sherlock could check that she was in fact looking right for the role, and from there they would move on, in separate taxis so as to remove suspicion, to the place Sherlock suspected to be the killers hunting ground.

Picking up her items, the woman stands up. "Well, boys, it's been a pleasure, but I have to organise some things for work for the next two weeks. I'll see you both later", she smiles, kissing Sherlock's cheek and holding her hand out for John to once again shake. "It's been a pleasure getting to know you, Doctor Watson."

Shaking her hand, John smiles, albeit a slightly forced smile. "Uh, yeah, you too"

Smiling, she walks out of the cafe, leaving a bored Sherlock and over thinking John. As soon as she was out of sight, John turns to Sherlock. "Who the hell is she?" he asks bemusedly.

Shaking his head, Sherlock starts to pick up his items and walk out of the building. It was only when they arrived back at Baker Street that John realised something, he still didn't know the woman's name.

* * *

_A/N: Hey guys! So, It's only been up for about 24 hours and I've already received 4 follows and 1 favourite! Thanks guys (that may not seem like much, but for me it is)._

_I'm not going to bug you all by saying 'reviews would be amazing' because you'll either review or you wont, and that's your decision, I'm not going to pressure you to do so. However, the only way I can really know if you are enjoying this story or not is by whether or not you review!_

_As per usual, I own nothing... expect for the empty bottle of alcohol next to me, which I didn't even get to drink..._

_Hope you are enjoying yourselves,_

_Andy_


	3. Chapter 3

At exactly eight o'clock that night there was a knock on the front door of 221b Baker Street. Hurrying down the stairs, John calls out, "I'm coming!" as he reaches the door to find the red haired woman from earlier standing shivering as she holds a large canvas bag tightly to her chest. "Oh, um, please, some in" join opens the door wider, allowing her to enter. "Sorry," he starts, "but I didn't catch your name earlier." he points out, hoping to finally know.

"Of course you didn't" she grins, her jaw still chattering slightly. "How could you? It was never said" she replies, quickly moving up the stairs.

When John finally shakes himself out of his revelry and joins them upstairs he finds her laying out three dresses against the couch; a short red lace dress with long sleeves, a black dress with a loose top, no sleeves and tight hips and thighs with a gold belt laying next to it, and a green satin dress that was far classier than the other two, despite still be relatively short. Sherlock stands next to her, looking over each of the dresses carefully before picking up the first two and passing them to the red head.

"Show me" he orders in a calm tone. Taking the dresses and a black pair of heels from the bag, the woman leaves them, walking towards Sherlock room, shutting the door behind her with her foot.

As soon as the door shuts, John turns to Sherlock with an exasperated sigh. "Alright, tell me."

"Tell you what?" the brunette asks feigning innocence.

"Who is she? What's her name?" the doctor replies, feeling the beginning of a headache starting.

"Surely she would tell you, if you asked." Sherlock answers, hiding a smirk.

"Yeah, well, I tried that, did't get a straight answer." the blonde rubs his temples lightly, hoping to relieve some of the pain.

"No, you didn't" a voice replies from behind him. The two men turn to she the woman standing in the red dress, her hair falling down onto her back in soft waves. "So, boys, what do you think?" she asks, self consciously patting down the lace layer.

Johns found himself unable to even respond. Long, thin legs accentuated by the black pumps, she looked good, but apparently not good enough, as Sherlock quickly replies "try the black."

She nods quickly, with a smile before heading back into his bedroom. Quietly, so as not to be overheard, John turns to his flatmate asking the question Sherlock knew would be coming, it always did. "Um, is she... Is she single?" John asks, making sure she wasn't in ears reach.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock looks at his friend dubiously. Remembering the same question coming from not only Sebastian, but Lestrade and even Anderson, Sherlock tiles his head slightly. "She doesn't date, John."

"Yeah, but, I mean..." John starts only to be interrupted by Sherlock.

"I've known her since she was seven years old, she never has and claims never to want to date." Sherlock replies, moving through the accessories with her bag.

"Right, yeah, of course, I guess. Why is that?" he asks before hearing the door to Sherlock's room open.

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" Sherlock questions as the redhead renters the room, this time in black. The top half sits loosely, but shows a slight amount of cleavage, hinting at what is below. On her waist sits a thin golden belt, matching the golden loops on her shoulders and the skirt sits tightly against her.

"Well?" she starts after a few moments of silence. "Any time now" she prompts a response.

Tearing his eyes away from her, Sherlock nods slowly, unable to quite word his thoughts, a feeling he hadn't had in years.

"Should I take that as a 'yes'?" she asks, trying to look him directly in the eyes.

Finally looking her in the eyes, Sherlock smiles, "Yes."

"Good", she smiles, "now, I still need to do my hair and accessories, do you mind showing me your suspects again while I get ready?" she asks, placing large golden hoops into her ears. Sherlock hands her some sheets of paper with men's faces on them while she holds out two necklaces, silently asking his opinion. Pointing to the black and gold chocker with a black pendant, Sherlock watches her get ready.

"So, just to be certain, I'm to have a few drinks, pretend to get drunk, whilst making sure they are able to see me and then we wait and see who approaches me, right?" she asks, finishing her makeup.

"Basically," Sherlock replies, looking her over with satisfactory smirk. "Although, it would be best if would get some more evidence then a male approaching you, particularly when you look, well, like you do"

"Sherlock Holmes, was that almost a complement I heard?" the red head smirks happily.

Sherlock doesn't reply, only smirking back. "Alright then, so , you'll keep an eye on me, and I'll go along with them in my 'drunken' state, yeah?" she asks, staring directly into his eyes, making certain he wouldn't end up wandering off if he got bored.

Sherlock nods, not taking his eyes off her. "Right," she stands, picking up a golden clutch and placing her phone, id and some cash inside it. "I'm going to go downstairs and call for a taxi, might as well call for two, you boys can just wait a few minutes before following me. I'll stay around the bar, but do try to keep track of me" she smiles, talking to the both of them, but looking only towards Sherlock.

With a nod goodbye, the red head leaves the apartment, followed minutes later by John and Sherlock. As the two men prepare to step outside, Mrs Hudson calls Sherlock's name as she huddles towards them from her apartment. "I know you two are probably in a hurry, so I won't keep you long, but I have to ask, was that Melanda I just heard leaving?".

Nodding, Sherlock takes the lead once more and steps into the waiting taxi, giving the driver the address of a popular upmarket club. John enters the car, and they leave, the army doctors head swirling, he finally knew her name. Melanda.

* * *

A/N: So, You finally know her name! What do you think so far?

As per usual, I still don't own anything... I know, it makes me sad too...

Andy.


	4. Chapter 4

Cursing Sherlock mentally, Melanda stands in the queue outside the popular nightclub shivering. Oh, certainly, she was aware that not wearing a coat would make her look more appealing, and catch the eye of the suspects easier, but it was bloody cold! Looking around her, she quickly sees one of the men from Sherlock's photos standing about 15 people behind her in the queue before she quickly spots Sherlock and John. Catching the detective's eye briefly, she continues to look around, so as to not appear as though she knows the man who will most likely cause some form of havoc during the night. Of course, both residents of 221b were dressed warmly, Sherlock in his warm coat over his customary suit, matched with his navy scarf, John in his jeans, a jumper and jacket. The red head couldn't feel a bit of contempt towards them as she hugs herself, trying to ignore the night's chill.

Finally, she gets to the end of the line, faced with burning looking man who grabs her id harshly, looking it over before gruffly handing it back, stamping her hand harshly with the picture of a red frog, the words Devil's Croak written around it. The balding man almost shoving her aside to deal with the next person. Putting on a fake smile, Melanda walks into the dimly lit room making her way straight to the bar and orders herself a fruity cocktail. Finding herself a spot, she remains there, slowly sipping the obnoxiously pink liquid, watching in the reflection of the bottles for Sherlock and John to enter. When they do, she starts to drink more quickly, desperately wishing she could have a proper drink, preferably a glass of scotch or wine, but continuing the act of a frilly, stupid young woman, she had to play every part of the role, and that included drinking sweet, feminine drinks.

Ordering another drink, this time a shot of vanilla flavored vodka, Melanda starts the show. Sitting by herself, she starts to smile in a slightly crooked way, swaying slightly before correcting herself after downing the shot, she vaguely notices one of the suspects watching her closely. She smiles in his direction, making him raise his glass of beer in recognition.

A feeling of warmth passes her, and she knows Sherlock has just walked behind her, his silent way of encouraging the acting. With a slightly sloppy wink towards the graying man opposite her, she orders another drink from the barman, this time going back to the feminine cocktails. Playing with the straw with her tongue, she mentally berates Sherlock, disgusting with herself, even though she was acting. However, her sluttish move pays off as the man walks towards her, sitting in the seat next to her.

"Hey there, gorgeous," the man starts, obviously testing the waters.

"Hey there yourself" she giggles back.

Taking it as an encouragement, the tanned man places a hand on her thigh, moving in closer. "Now, what is s beautiful thing like you doing all by yourself?" he says in a sly voice.

Leaning in towards him, she whispers back, "I'm waiting to find someone to change that" before loosing balance and falling into him slightly, giggling as she does so.

She had definitely got his attention, and there was every chance he was the person responsible, so she kept acting, appearing more drunk by the minute. She was safe as long as Sherlock was there, she reassures herself, and seeing him across the bar, watching both her and the man beside her as well as another potential suspect across the room, she knew she was fine.

Melanda is ripped away from her calming thoughts as the man's hand rises up her thigh, as he whispers into her ear. "How 'bout we get out of here, hmm? Find somewhere a bit more... Private" his hand moves further up her thigh.

Holding back a grimace, and trying not to punch the man, she plays along. "Sounds like a plan" she smiles, grabbing her purse and standing up. The man places his hand on the middle of her back, guiding her out of the club. Squashing her fear, she leans into his touch as they leave the club and head toward where his car is supposedly parked.

Walking down a deserted alleyway, the man pulls her by the arm abruptly, tugging her into a wall before starting to kiss her neck. This was wrong, thought Melanda, he wasn't silencing her like the killer had.

"Stop" she mutters, but he keeps going, pushing her roughly into the wall, his erection prominently pushing into her thigh. The man responds by placing a hand over her mouth. She tries to move away, but he grabs her again, pushing her once more into the brick wall behind her. But still, there is no knife. She wiggles out of the grasp of his hand, saying, more confidently "stop!" but the man continues, putting his hand over her mouth once more as he undos his fly, pushing her dress up.

"I believe she told you to stop" Sherlock's deep baritone calls from behind the man. Turning, shocked, the graying man meets Sherlock's fist with a swift punch, causing him to fall to the ground. Facing Melanda, with no care to the man laying between them, he asks in a soft voice, "are you alright?"

The redhead nods, briefly, stepping over the man before shaking her head, clearing her thoughts. "Well, he's not our guys" she starts somewhat shakily. "Just some would be rapist" she shrugs.

Sherlock nods, not taking his eyes off her, checking to make sure she remains unharmed. "John," he calls out, "get Lestrade to fix this mess. I'm taking Melanda home."

Nodding, John grabs his phone, calling the police detective and informing him of the location of the rapist, not bothering to check his vitals.

Taking Melanda's arm, Sherlock pulls off his coat, placing it carefully over her shoulders and walking her away towards the main street, leaving John puzzled once more. Sure, they knew one another when growing up, that he could understand, but he had never seen Sherlock so... caring... Expect perhaps with Mrs Hudson. But this was different, he thought, watching the two enter a taxi and leave him behind to deal with the mess.

* * *

_A/N: So, there's chapter four. As per usual, I don't own anything :)_

_Review, if you want, that would be awesome :)_


	5. Chapter 5

After having to deal with Detective Inspector Lestrade, explaining exactly what had happened that night, all John wanted to do was sleep. So, when he got back to 221b Baker street only to find Sherlock standing near the window playing his violin, he was less than impressed.

"Sherlock, it's been a long night, I am begging you, stop playing, just for tonight, be quiet, please" the doctor pleads.

Laughter comes from the kitchen, causing John to turn quickly. There, in the centre of the room stands Melanda, no longer wearing her dress from the club, but instead wearing her clothing from before and Sherlock's other dressing gown, to keep warm. "Please, John, tell him what you really think" she smiles as she pours boiling water into three mugs with tea bags in them.

Not having expected her to be at the apartment, John stutters slightly in shock "Melanda, I, er, I didn't know you were here".

The red head waves her hand dismissively, "it's fine John, really" she reassures him as she continues to make the cups of tea. Walking into the lounge carefully balancing the drinks, Melanda puts them carefully down on the coffee table, handing one to John before sipping her own, ignoring Sherlock's outstretched hand.

"Hand me my tea" the now brooding detective complains.

"No" the red head replies gently, "you are more than capable of getting it yourself, dear." She finishes before turning to the man seated across from her. "Now, Doctor Watson, I know that this idiot here has you running around after him all the time, but I presume you still have a day job, yes?"

Momentarily stunned by her referring Sherlock as an idiot, and even more so by his not complaining about it, John stumbles over his reply. "Oh, well, I had one, but, ah, they weren't exactly happy with how often I had to leave... So I'm in between jobs at the moment, as it were"

"Oh, but what were you doing? Daily practitioner work?" she asks as Sherlock finally gives in, grabbing his cup of tea with a glare towards the woman.

"Yes, I worked at a small clinic" John answers, happy that someone was interested in his life, his own life, not the running around after Sherlock part.

"I should get you to talk to one of my students, she's a receptionist in a rather average clinic, but maybe she could help you find a new place to work at, that is, if you want" Melanda smiles, continuing to ignore Sherlock who, in retaliation of her offer to John, resumes playing his violin, playing an angry song, his bow not lifting off the strings between the notes, causing them to almost blend into one another but for the abrupt stop the horse hair would make on the metal cords before turning back again.

"Wait, really?" John asks in shock, "that- that would be amazing!"

Melanda smiles even more so, "I can't promise anything, but I do remember her mentioning they were a little short staffed. Now," she places the empty cup of tea down, turning to face Sherlock, "I'm going home. Do you mind if I leave my stuff here for tomorrow morning? I'll be in at 7 to make breakfast, tell Eve she's more than welcome to join us, I'm sure she wants a good catch up."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, not stopping his song, but relaxing his pressure on the strings, before nodding once, abruptly, then facing the window again.

Dumping his dressing gown on the couch, Melanda grabs her handbag. With a kiss to each of the men's right cheeks, the redhead leaves the apartment without a word.

Two early mornings in a row were already taking their toll on the pale redhead as she clambers into her black alfa romeo 159 with a sigh, practically throwing her shopping into the passenger seat as she takes a long sip from her hot mocca. Why on earth did she agree to do this? She wonders to herself as she turns the ignition on, her radio starting instantly. She knew why, she always knew why, she could never say no to Sherlock, even when they were young.

Putting her drink down, she quickly checks her makeup. Foundation covering her skin with a hint of blush, eyeliner making a definitive flick at the edge of her eyes paired with perfectly faded silver and peach eyeshadow and soft pale pink lipstick. It was only 6:30 and she was far too ready for the day, in her opinion. Oh please, her mind berates, you've been ready for comps by this time before, and that takes far more effort. With a sigh she admits defeat as she turns into the almost empty streets and makes her way to Baker street.

Humming along to the music, Melanda finds herself arriving before she realizes it. She parks around the corner and checks the time. 6:42am. Well, there's no point waiting, she considers, picking up the overflowing bags next to her and getting out of the car and locking it. Stopping at the front door she tries her luck at opening the door, only to find it locked.

She carefully places the bags down and takes her phone from her handbag, quickly finding the number she wants and pressing 'call'. A few moments of silence but for the sound of ringing and finally the voice answers "what?"

"Let me in, you grumpy sod, and don't wake John up in the process" Melanda smiles into the receiver.

"Why? I could just leave you out there" Sherlock calls back, a tinge of cheekiness in his voice.

"Indeed, you could, if you wanted me to tell your mother how dreadfully you're treating me, you know, I'm rather good at fake tears, if I do say so myself" she plays back at him, knowing it was an empty threat. In all their years Melanda had never complained to Catherine Holmes about the behaviour of either Holmes boy, despite having threatened to do so 932 times.

He responds quickly with a click of the lock and the door opening revealing a smug Sherlock in his pajamas and dressing gown. As quickly as he appears, his face drops from a smile to confusion. "Where are your clothes?" he asks, almost disappointedly.

"Suitcase in the car" Melanda shrugs, handing him the keys to her car as she pushes past him and moves towards the kitchen.

Placing the bags on the floor next to the fridge, she can't help but smile as she notices there are no more dirty dishes since she had done them last night. Her smile, however, drops when she opens the fridge, in hopes of putting the shopping away, only to come face to face with a decomposing head of a young girl.

Quickly shutting the fridge, she turns to Sherlock who has just come up the stairs with her small suitcase.

"Sherlock, there's a head in the fridge" she states, no flicker of emotion on her face.

"Well, yes, I wanted to see..." Sherlock starts only for Melanda to wave her hands cutting him off.

"No, right now I don't care what your experiment is, all I want you to do is put it in the damned extra fridge I bought you for your birthday a few years ago so this fridge stays sanitary" she glares slightly.

Realizing he has no way of winning, Sherlock sighs resignedly, "fine" before putting gloves on and moving towards the fridge.

"And you can clean it too while you're at it. I'm sure John doesn't appreciate eating contaminated food" she crosses her arms in front of her chest, only for him to nod in return.

Giving up on putting the food away, the redhead leaves it in its bags, and starts to cook. As she finishes planting up the sausages, bacon, eggs and spinach, she watches Sherlock as he cleans the fridge, obviously irritated at the mindless job. Noticing there was no longer any mould or blood in the fridge, she walks towards him, placing a hand gently on his shoulder causing him to turn. Smiling down at him, she carefully moves a stray curl from his face.

"Thank you, I'll do the rest after breakfast," she kisses his cheek softly before moving away. "So, how about you get John and I'll get Eve?"

"No need," a voice calls from behind them. John is there, leaning against the wall trying to hide his smirk at what he had just witnessed. "I mean 'Eve', which I assume is Mrs Hudson, isn't here, but I am."

With a nod, Melanda walks towards the army doctor, kissing him too on the cheek with a brief "good morning, John" before heading down stairs, her converse making a quiet squeak against the wooden steps as she descends.

* * *

_A/N: Well, that took forever! Sorry! I broke my thumb and if I'm not touch typing I can't type at all... it's like I have to go full on on nothing at all..._

_Anyway, I've been trying to decide between two ways this plot could go and I've finally decided, so hopefully I'll update more regularly again!_

_As per usual, I own nothing. If I did I'd be screaming from the roof tops in joy._

_Also, special shout out to The Dark Lady55 for reviewing! Thank you, you made my week!_

_~Andy_


	6. Author's Note

_**Author's Note:**_

_First of all, I'm super sorry to everyone who thought this was a new chapter, however, I'm not being totally deceptive! I have finally got my tablet working again, which means I am back to writing this fanfic! YAY! I've almost finished the next chapter, however, I felt so utterly terrible about leaving you guys for so long without a new chapter, that I wrote a little one-shot and posted it on my account. It's called 'One Letter Off Perfection: A Little Something Extra' as that is what it is, a little something extra for you guys. It's set a bit further into the story, however there aren't any spoilers, so don't you worry! Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it, as I enjoyed writing it. The next chapter should be uploaded within a weeks time (as I'm going away for part of the week to a friends, so I may not have internet). Thanks for sticking with me, and a special thanks to those who have reviewed, I'll give you shout outs in the next chapter as I'll be deleting this when it's up._

_Lots of love, _

_Andy xx_


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